“I can help,” she told him. “I know everyone in a ten mile radius. I can help you throw the best billiard party the Marriage Mart has ever seen. I even know someone who writes for the local gazette. She can pen a column that will make your party sound like the biggest crush in Christmas history.”
Azureford hesitated. “In exchange for what?”
Carole blinked. She never offered to help someone in exchange for anything at all, and was a little offended he thought her so mercenary. Then again, they scarcely knew each other. And… every encounter they’d had this year had been staged on false pretenses.
Fine. His instincts were excellent. And if he was in a mood to barter, she wouldn’t let this golden opportunity get away.
“Let me help,” she begged impulsively.
His brow wrinkled. “You want to help in exchange for helping?”
“Not just with the party,” she said in a rush. “I’m good at that, but I’d be great at designing your new billiard room.”
It would be as though her sketchbooks came to life. An actual project, combining her two best talents: architecture and billiards. A match made in heaven. The first step would be—
Azureford’s tone was final. “No.”
Chapter 5
All the other Chippendale chairs around his long table were empty, but Adam was not alone. He was surrounded by half a dozen stacks of detailed notes, saved correspondence, and parliamentary reports. The golden hour after breaking his fast but before the bustle of the day properly began were his most productive moments.
Usually.
Try as he might to concentrate solely on the House of Lords projects before him, part of his mind could not stop thinking about Miss Quincy. He couldn’t claim not to feel at sixes and sevens in her company, but he’d had longer conversations with her than he’d had with anyone outside of the government. He had always looked forward toseeingher, but now he’d begun to look forward tospeakingwith her.
Not that there would be many more such encounters. They had packed up more than half the books yesterday afternoon, updating the inventory journal as they went along. This afternoon they would finish the rest, and that would be that. It wouldn’t even have taken this long, had Miss Quincy not insisted on penning a cargo list for the library. Perhaps she hadn’t wished for the afternoon to end, either. Perhaps that was why she had offered to design his new billiard room.
If the party hadn’t been so important, Adam might even have let her explain her ideas. He knew nothing about billiards and even less about architecture or interior aesthetics. How much worse could Miss Quincy be? But he hadn’t purchased this summer cottage in order to practice conversing withonewoman. He needed this party to be perfect. The exact opposite of last year. He wanted to make friends with every gentleman, flirt—or at least, exchange pleasantries with—every lady. Which meant he needed topractice, so that this time when he returned to London, he’d be ready.
“Practice reading these reports,” he muttered to himself. The Marriage Mart wasn’t the only thing awaiting him next Season.
Adam had volunteered for the import and export committees, the Exchequer committee, and the highways and hackneys committees. He was also fighting for strict oversight of workhouses, full abolishment of slavery in all territories, and more humane treatment of the governing and custody of insane persons in or outside of asylums. Oh, and postage. Parliament couldn’t seem to go more than a year or two without another Postage Act.
Most of his fellows in the House of Lords used their six months off as a welcome break. They’d think Adam peculiar for bringing his work with him on holiday. But he didn’t feel like a true representative of the people if he didn’t do his best to represent them all year round.
That, and being a member of every possible committee gave him something productive to do. A way to be valuable to others, even if he never quite knew how to talk to them directly.
“That’s my hoop!”
“No, it’smyhoop!”
Adam grinned to himself at the sound of children playing outside, but did not turn around to look out of the open window. He was using the natural light to reread and organize his old notes in order to create a plan for next season, and he needed to make haste. Once he finished, he had to duck back into the library to find his last few cherished volumes before the castle footman came to take all the books away.
He might have finished last night, if he hadn’t got lost in an old favorite he’d already read at least four times.
A peal of infectious laughter floated in with the rays of sun. It didn’t sound like a child. Adam twisted in his seat. It sounded like—
Miss Quincy.
Of course it was. Her kissable lips and ubiquitous presence meant nothing. Yet he could not look away.
She was trundling a large iron hoop up the steep road with impressive ease. A little boy and a little girl chased after her with shining eyes, like comets caught in the orbit of a star. He knew how they felt. Miss Quincy had a way of lighting up a room with her mere presence. She was fearless and fascinating, game for anything at any moment. Be that spontaneous romps with children, or breakneck phaeton rides courtesy of “le Ducs, actually.”
He rolled his eyes at the thought of the fortuneteller. What balderdash! Miss Quincy didn’t believe in signs and neither did Adam. He shouldn’t have allowed “five golden rings” to spook him. An earring wasn’t a message from beyond. Neither was a bracelet, no matter how many gold bands it contained. Those were coincidences and nothing more.
His lips twisted wryly. It was a good thing she was trundling hoops made of iron, or thanks to Madame Edna, Adam’s overactive imagination would think those were “rings,” too.
The only reason that poppycock had got under his skin was because hewaslooking for a wife. As a duke, Adam had the responsibility to secure a respected and competent duchess, with whom he was to produce an heir and a spare to inherit the duchy. Only a very specific sort of young lady would bring honor to the title, aid his political career, and provide the right social opportunities for his future heirs.
